Jude
by YumKiwiDelicious
Summary: While taking on the identity of a young Jewish girl in 1942 Europe seemed insane, I reasoned that there had been no Nazi occupation in England during the entirety of World War II. As long as I made no attempts to travel through Germany or its surrounding countries, everything would be fine.
1. Prologue

December 13, 1996

I sat still and quiet as if a single noise would send Death Eaters pounding up the staircase to seize me forcibly from the room. I felt strangely disconnected from the situation. As if it weren't really me, Hermione Jean Granger, sitting in that seat staring searchingly at my beloved headmaster, but someone else entirely. Someone whose eyes weren't fixed on that cursed hand, wondering how I could still dare to call myself clever when I hadn't noticed the mighty Albus Dumbledore growing frail and weak over the last few months. I felt entitled to answer to the title of the brightest witch of my age, yet I had never guessed that Snape was our ally after all this time. A plethora of information had just been bestowed upon me and all I could focus on was how stupid I had been. I wasn't clever at all, I was a fool. I was such a fool.

"Are you quite alright, Miss Granger?"

As usual, Dumbledore's steady voice brought me out of my own self-depreciating musings and I met his twinkling eyes. Seeing him looking back at me over those half-mooned spectacles, so calm and collected even after all he had told me, my eyes suddenly pricked with tears and like that I was back to my body, coming alive as a slouched downward in my seat.

"Professor," I half sobbed, putting a hand to my face in hopes of hiding my despair and shame. Dumbledore rose from his chair with the grace of a man half his age, and came to me then. When he rested his hand on my shoulder, my crying only increased, and I hunched forward in my seat, head in my hands.

"There is no shame in sadness, Ms. Granger," he said sagely. I peeked through my hands, stunned and touched to see him looking down on me with distinct fondness, a half smile pulling at the deep lines of his face. I nodded, attempting to compose myself then as I sat up and touched his hand lightly, signaling the end of my break-down.

"I'm sorry," I sniffed, wiping embarrassedly at my eyes. I had no reason to be crying; I wasn't the one dying after all. I would miss my head master terribly of course, and I couldn't even imagine how unbearable Harry would become, but at the end of the day my tears would not stop the curse, and I could not always fall to pieces every time we lost someone. Merlin knew it had happened enough, and would continue to happen. With one final sniff and a shake of my head, I refocused on Dumbledore who had now moved back to his seat, lowering himself into it gingerly.

"There's no need to apologize," he assured, folding his aged hands in front of him, "I realize what I have just told you must come as quite a shock. I also realize that it unfair of me to ask this much of you."

I moved as if to protest, but after another twinkling look I knew my argument was dead in the water. It honestly was unfair, but I refused to believe mine was the worst lot in life. It was unfair that Harry had to lose his parents in infancy and then grow up to fight off their killer. It was unfair that Remus Lupin had to be discriminated against simply because of an unfortunate event that would now dictate the rest of his life. It was unfair Sirius Black had to be taken from the life he had fought so long for after only just earning it back. It was unfair Severus Snape had to be made into the bad guy. It was unfair Dumbledore had to die. After nearly six whole years of watching these tragedies and others play out, I was a firm believe that life was unfair

With a simple nod as if to confirm his last statement, I again wiped away access moisture from my face and cleared my throat. "I can't tell Harry or Ron."

"I'm afraid not," he intoned, "Your Mr. Weasley, brave and loyal though he is, is not the most subtle student I have ever taught."

I chuckled. Not at his harmless jibe at Ron, but at the fact he had called the youngest Weasley son _mine_. What a silly thought. Ron was no more mine than Lilly Evans had been Snape's. Ron was so completely absorbed in Lavender Brown as of late, it was a wonder he even realized I still existed.

"And Harry?" I pressed on, refusing to fall into another weeping fit over my love life at a time like this.

Dumbledore smiled the smile anyone with eyes knew was reserved only for Harry. It was a smile of complete love and devotion. A smile parents gave their children when they were being particularly cheeky or smart. It was a smile that let me know it must have broken Dumbledore's heart to deceive Harry the way he had for all these years; raising him like a pig for slaughter. That smile and the boy behind it was enough to make Dumbledore go back on nearly everything he had ever told me and sit me down to asked too much of me. It was a smile I knew I could trust.

"Harry Potter is a great wizard," he said proudly, his voice deep and honest, "As well as a great man. However, he can sometimes let his emotions rule his head, and I feel a mission such as this would strike him to near the heart for him to carry it out efficiently."

I agreed with the ancient man entirely, remembering the numerous times Harry had thrown himself scar first into danger because his heart had been in it. Harry was Gryffindor through and through with an unshakable nerve and almost worrisome bravery backing his every move. He was my dearest friend, and I loved his best, but I knew this mission would be no good for him. Plus someone had to stay behind and destroy the Horcruxes just in case I failed.

A cold wave of fear crashed over me as I thought of that. What if I failed? Not only would history be changed, possibly for the worst, but I would never see this life again. For my friends it would be as if I had never existed to begin with, which was a painful enough thought to bare, but for my parents I would just suddenly disappear. Never to be seen or heard from again, and with no one I had spent the last six year gushing about even able to confirm I had been here to begin with. As all these thoughts occurred to me, I suddenly felt nauseous and focused very hard on my knees, sweat beading on my forehead.

"You have every right and reason to refuse this request, Miss Granger," Dumbledore offered suddenly, having never needed Legilimency to read anyone's thoughts. I glanced up at him.

"But then you'll die," I whispered, nearly to myself. He nodded. "And…Harry's parents will die, and Sirius will die and all these people will just _die_." He nodded.

He wasn't trying to convince me to go I knew, but I couldn't help but notice he did not offer up his usual claims of death being a natural part of life; the next great adventure on a never ending journey. I suppose even if he had, my mind would not have been changed. I looked up at the wall of his office, covered with the portraits of the fantastic head masters and mistresses that came before him. All great witches and wizards that time would remember and honor. I would never be up there. This task would be the end of my life as Hermione Granger and I would forever and always cease to be the brightest witch of this age. Time would not remember me. Dumbledore would not even remember me if things went according to plan. At least not as the girl he had known for the last six years. I would disappear.

"I have to do this."

"No, Miss Granger-"

"I_ want_ to do this," I restated, straightening my back as I met his eyes again. I was no Harry Potter, but I was brave and I _was_ clever. I knew this sacrifice would mean more to the world than I ever could. Doing this would mean a better life for my friends and all the people, like me, that had been treated as second-class wizards and witches just because of their heritage. I could change all that and I would change all that. "You can count on me, professor."

The smile he sent me was fit for Harry potter. "Excellent," he enthused, rising from his seat again. I followed quickly, hovering near him as he supported himself on the desk, the curse in his hand taking a dreadful toll every few moments. He stood fast though, still managing to gaze down at me in good humor as he spoke. "Now, I doubt I need to elaborate how extremely delicate this plan is to you, young Granger."

"No, sir," I assured him.

"Tom Riddle is and was a terribly powerful wizard. It would not be in your best interest to get on his bad side." He spoke while moving towards one of his book shelves, his blackening hand whispering over the spines as if the tombs were hot to the touch. "You cannot expect to win this war with fighting. For as talented as you are, you would be no match for him."

It never even crossed my mind to be offended. I knew what he was saying was completely true; I had books and cleverness on my side, but if it came down to a duel, I could not best Lord Voldemort and his expansive knowledge of dark magic which I refused to use. Instead I began to think of all the subtle ways I could finish this. Perhaps a gradual poisoning, or a terrible accident involving the giant squid. I had not settled on which idea I preferred yet, and was unable to before Dumbledore finally plucked one of the books off the shelf, a satisfied hum leaving his lips.

"Will I have time to say goodbye to Ron and Harry?" I asked, palms beginning to sweat as everything became more real. I was really doing this. I was really traveling back to 1942 to confront Tom Riddle.

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore mused, focused entirely on a spell he was reading through, his mouth moving over the words silently as if in prayer. I breathing hitched and I turned my back on him, not wanting him to witness me crying for the second time in as many hours.

I steadied myself, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched. I knew I was doing the right thing, and I would not go back on my declaration now, but knowing I would never see Ron or Harry again was a thought almost too painful to withstand. Harry who was like my own bright eyed, wild haired brother and who I cared so deeply for. Ron who I was very possibly falling in love with and who I would never be able to tell how I felt. I'd never see them, or Ginny, or Luna, or Merlin's sake my _parents _ever again. Suddenly I was not so sure of myself. Suddenly I didn't know if I could go through with this without a hug from my mother first.

I sucked in a ragged breath, and heard Dumbledore turn towards me. I kept my back rigid, shoulders tight as he approached me. His healthy hand fell with a bone crushing weight onto my shoulder and I imagined it was the world.

"There is no shame in sadness," he repeated, turning me ever so slightly so that he may look upon my tear streaked face. "But I want you to know something, Hermione." My eyes fell open, red and sore from fighting the tears for so long. "You are not Hermione Granger because of your family, or your friends." I blinked. "You are Hermione Granger because you were born such."

Thinking back on it now, I did not truly understand what he meant, but his words gave me courage and I nodded at him, brushing tears off my cheek for the last time that day. He grinned at me, as if we had been discussing some small joke between the two of us and ushered me forward, to the center of the room.

"Now, Miss Granger," he began, turning momentarily to grab something off the top of his deliberately cluttered desk "You will be returning to 1943 during Hogwarts' holiday vacation and so will not be attending school when you arrive." Something in my heart fell as my last comfort, academia, was stripped away. "You will be posing as an orphan, moving in to Wool's Orphanage where Tom Riddle will still be residing at the time."

He handed me the item he had grabbed and I saw it was a small leather booklet not unlike the ones my parents used to hold their passports. Flipping it open, I saw an aged picture of myself that looked like it had been carefully preserve for the last fifty-some odd years. It was on the left hand side of an identification sheet, stating my name and birth date plainly though in a handwriting not my own. My new surname was to be Neumen and I had been born in 1926, making me the same age as Lord Voldemort himself. The whole document was breathtakingly authentic, and I wondered how Dumbledore had even managed to find such a simple photograph of me, but what really caught my attention was the emblazoned yellow star behind all the swirly writing.

Glancing up at Dumbledore, I saw that he did not find it necessary to comment on it as he continued to study his tomb. Flipping the wallet closed, I did my best to reason with myself. While taking on the identity of a young Jewish girl in 1942 Europe seemed insane, I reasoned that there had been no Nazi occupation in England during the entirety of World War II. Plus saying my parents had been captured by the SS was a great excuse as to why I would be appearing parentless seemingly out of nowhere. As long as I made no attempts to travel through Germany and its surrounding countries, I would be perfectly fine.

"Right, well, I do believe I've got it," Dumbledore suddenly announced, shutting the book with a resounding 'fwump!' that set my palms to sweating once more. This was it. I patted my robe pockets, assuring the presence of my wand and beaded bag. "Are you ready, Miss Granger?"

I thought long and hard on that question, knowing he was not simply asking about the spell. I had to be ready to give up everything I had ever known for a shot at fixing it. I had to be ready to give up my friends and family in order to save them. I had to be ready to say goodbye to the person I had become to take on this entirely new person that would be changing history.

I took the briefest of moments to recall every single time I had made my dad laugh, or sung a song with my mum. I flashed back to meeting Harry and Ron on the Hogwarts express and waking up from being petrified and punching Draco Malfoy in the face and dancing with Victor Krum and so many other things that from this moment on would only exist in my memories. I had to be ready to accept that.

I had to be ready and in that moment I was.

"Yes, sir."


	2. Chapter 1

December 14, 1942

The spell had not been what I was expecting though I'm not entirely sure what that was. I suppose somewhere in the recesses of my mind I'd assumed a blinding white light would shoot from the tip of Dumbledore's wand. Perhaps I thought I'd be engulfed into the dark of unconsciousness and wake up in 1942. Instead it was as if I was using a time turned and watching the last 54 years fly by me while remaining immovably glued to the one spot in the center of Dumbledore's office.

It was strange watching time fly backwards the way it had. Everything was moving very fast; faster than with a time turner but I still caught glimpses of moments from my own lifetime and tried to keep them in my mind as more people and time flew by. I saw Snape conjure his Patronus and send it prancing off into the night, a true beacon of his love for Lily Evans. I saw Harry come in and out of the office more times than I could count, each time getting younger and younger until he was only eleven. I saw head master Dippet talking to teachers and students from decades passed.

I saw them all, but none of them saw me and when time finally stopped again, I realized I had traveled back 54 years in all of two minutes. I stood alone and flabbergasted at what had just occurred, wondering where in the world such a spell had been created and why no one ever spoke of it. As I stumbled out of my original spot, suddenly free from the vice like hold of time travel, I let my eyes soak in the old office, not half so cluttered as what it had been just moments ago.

Everything about the place that had been distinctly Dumbledore was gone, from the bowl of lemon drops on the corner of the desk, to the vast bookshelf that had once stood to my right. I groaned internally at that, a part of me having been hoping I could locate the book he'd pulled the spell from and somehow get home after all this mess. That hope was gone now though and I was left with the same twisting gut feeling I'd had just before leaving.

I was here forever. I'd never even meet Harry and Ron in this new timeline; I'd be long into my fifties before they were even born. And my parents; I'd never get to see them again.

The room was thankfully empty (part of me supplied that Hogwarts was on break like Dumbledore had said), so I felt at liberty to throw myself into the guest chair which hadn't moved an inch in all this time. I reveled in the familiarity of its cushion, less sat in now, but still perfectly ancient. I gripped the arm rests and tried to think.

No one was here. No one would be here for at least a month. Plan aside, I could just stay in the hollowed school. Shack up in my old dorm, now belonging to someone else, and wait to meet Dippet and enroll as a student in January. It would be simple enough to get close to Riddle while sharing lessons with him. Maybe I could even convince the sorting hat to place me into his house; Harry himself always said it had taken his choice into consideration so why not mine?

Even as I sat there and imagined the convenient luxury of finishing out my sixth year while simultaneously ridding the world of Lord Voldemort, I knew the plan was no good. Not only was it not what Dumbledore had asked me to do, but it pushed the limits of what I was trying to avoid. In the second half of his sixth year, Tom Riddle had opened the Chamber of Secrets and killed Moaning Myrtle thus creating his first Horcrux. I couldn't allow that to happen.

Dumbledore had told me all about the Horcruxes. How they were nearly impossible to destroy and how finding them was a deadly mission that even he could not escape unscathed. Once he died there would be no one capable of helping Harry get rid of the pieces of Voldemort's soul and that was assuming he'd even be able to find them. No, I had come back to kill the infestation at its source. As long as I breathed in the 1940s, Tom Riddle would not create a single Horcrux. His soul would remain intact if it killed me.

Spotting a calendar hung behind Dippet's desk I took note of the date. Myrtle had died June 13, 1943. Meaning I had a little less than six months to thwart Tom Riddle's decent into complete evil. No pressure.

With a huff, I moved to stand, swaying slightly as the effect of standing for 54 years really hit me. I was exhausted. Just the thought of having to travel all the way to Muggle London made me groan, but as I started towards the door I steeled myself. The next six months would no doubt be very tiring indeed, but I had to be prepared to fight through it or all will have been for nothing.

* * *

'Pop!'

With my body feeling like dead weight as I apparated one last time, I stumbled into the brick wall opposite me, throwing all my weight against it as I fought to stay on my feet. I had had to walk off the castle's property before I was even physically able to apparate, and as I'd appeared outside King's Cross Station, I'd realized I had no idea where Wool's Orphanage was, let alone how to get there besides apparating mile after mile, unable to go any further without splinching myself.

It wasn't healthy to use so much magic in such rapid succession, and as I slid down to the filthy ground beneath me, hands caked with dirt from my various bad landings, and clothes tattered, I wondered how Tom Riddle had managed to make it back and forth between Hogwarts and his muggle residence multiple times a year. It was killing me. It did not help at all that it had begun to rain three stops ago and by this point I was soaked to the bone, teeth chattering and hair dripping icicles as I traveled aimlessly around London, England in mid-December.

With a shuttering breath, I stood once more and tried to get my bearings. In the 90s Wool's Orphanage had long been closed and so I had no idea of even beginning to guess where it might be. Currently I was in an alley, trash and filth sopping around my wet Mary-Janes. I cursed myself internally for not changing into more suitable clothes before setting out. My school robes made me look like an eccentric beggar in this setting, and I would need to rid myself of the Gryffindor colors sometime before I ran into Riddle.

Once I realized I could see nothing useful from this vantage point, I set out towards the main street, blinking rapidly to keep rain drops from falling into my eyes. I had to squint to see the names of buildings, having no one to clarify I was even going in the right direction since the rain had chased them all inside. It was so bleak and dark in this time that I wondered if it was just the standard for 1940s Europe. I would not have been surprised.

I sneezed once as I took in the street I had landed on. There were little shops and diners all along it, windows shut up against the weather, every building looking as sad and desolate as the last. Shaking my wet mane out of my face in irritation, I leaned against the wall again, feeling hopelessness begin to seep into my bones along with the cold. It felt like hours had already gone by and I honestly just wanted a place to rest.

With another bone clattering shudder, I resigned myself to finding the orphanage the next day. Pushing away from my brick crutch, I stepped onto the side walk, ready to set out and find a hotel or B&amp;B to stay in for the night. I had just enough muggle money in my bag that I thought I could swing that at least. I could regroup and set out again tomorrow when the sun was shining, _if _the sun was shining. As I turned to walk to my right, hand running along the continuous wall that had supported me, I tried my best to leave my mind blank. It would not do to be swept up in heart ache now thinking of everything I had just lost with the flick of a wand. I kept reminding myself that I had a chance to change the world as long as I kept focused and didn't go to pieces.

I glanced over as the solid stone suddenly disappeared, replaced by a cast-iron fence that bruised my knuckles as I wrapped against it. Staring up nearly in to the rain, I could have cried at the sight that greeted me. There, behind the high walls and iron fence was a large square building, sagging with age and overuse with the words 'Wool's Orphanage' plainly displayed above its entrance, faded from years of the dreary English weather.

A half amused, half crazed laugh fell from my lips, sounding closer to a sob as I gripped the bars tightly. Somehow I had made it this far in my journey already and I was almost happy enough to call that a victory in itself. Keeping my eyes on the orphanage as if it would disappear as soon as I dared to blink, I felt my way along the gate until I reached the center where I was able to pull it open. Letting myself into the front courtyard, I jumped as a crash of thunder echoed overhead, the sky darkening even further as I moved up the walkway. The building really did look run down, but I wagered it had been around for quite some time and decided to reserve judgment until I made it inside.

When I finally reached the front door, an ancient thing that's wood looked to be rotting, I noticed it was unusually tall and had no knocker or even a mail slot. All that was nearby was a rope, hanging from the dingy rafters with a small toggle dangling at the end. Figuring this was the bell, I reached out and pulled it, a small groan of effort escaping my lips as a solemn 'dong' rang out from inside the building. Even over the smattering of rainfall and now increased peals of thunder, I could hear a sudden stampede of little feet running here and there from inside. The bell of children's laughter floated up to me from under the crack in the door and a shiver went down my spine. Tom Riddle was somewhere in there. The thought was such a shock to my system that when a grey haired woman finally pulled open the heavy door, I simply stared at her, eyes wide and mouth agape, rain water falling into it from my sopping hair.

"Hello, dear," she greeted, her initial shock at seeing me there melting into a kind smile, "Can I help you?"

She was not an all too elderly woman, probably in her late fifties at the eldest. She wore a blue knee length skirt and button jacket, her grey eyes popping in the dim of the hall behind her. She looked very nice. Still, an awkward moment of silence passed between us and when her eyebrows began to stitch together in concern, I realized I had a roll I needed to be playing. Letting my mouth snap closed and eyes fall to the floor, I tried to stammer out a reply through my chattering teeth. It was not difficult to play a distraught teen who had just lost her parents. I had after all.

"Y-Yes," I began, words feeling strange crawling their way out of my throat. I cleared it. "S-Sorry, I just…I just-" With an all mighty sniff, I allowed my face to crumble in true felt agony, and within moments the woman had fetched me into her arms, guiding my head down to her shoulder as she was a few inches shorter than myself. "I have nowhere to go."

The sobbed confession must have been one she was used to hearing because she simply nodded, ushering me into the entrance hall of the orphanage before closing and locking the door behind us. Trying not to let myself be completely overcome with sadness, I still allowed a few earnest tears to leak out as I trembled and hiccupped, dripping water onto the dusty rug beneath my feet. The woman put her arm around me, comforting hums and shushes coming from the back of her throat as she walked me down the hall.

Head cast low so that my hair blocked my face, I risked glances up and around me, trying to spot my reason for coming here. Instead I was met with the dirty faces of young children that would appear and suddenly be gone. Hidden away behind banisters and stairways they watched as I was taken to a small but cozy sitting room. At this point I began to quell my crying a bit, knowing I would need to deliver my story in a somewhat coherent fashion.

The woman guided me into an armchair just before a fireplace. I sank into the seat, still keeping my face turned down and my shoulders hunched, if only to hide my odd form of dress as she whispered a harsh reprimand to two young faces that had peeked in around the corner. In that moment she was occupied I did a quick sweep of the room. No Tom Riddle here. I whimpered once more and redrew her attention.

"There, there, dear," she soothed, momentarily grasping my limp hand before reaching for a tea set on the end table to my left. "You're safe now."

"Thank you," I gushed, accepting the cup she poured and handed to me with a watery smile, "It's just been so hard since…" I trailed off, letting my face hint at another break down as the woman took the other armchair on the opposite side of the table.

"You're all alone then?" she questioned as gently as possible, head tilted like that of a good listener. I nodded, deciding against wiping the tears from my face since my hands were dirty. I sniffed again.

"Yes," I clarified, keeping my eyes low and haunted as she studied me, "My parents were arrested some time back while we were traveling." I hiccupped to sell it further, not wanting to seem too eager to reveal this heart wrenching story.

"My goodness," she breathed, nearly under her breath, "Whatever for?"

I thought quickly about how someone in this situation would answer. It was unlikely they'd be able to get through the story calmly, and the less detail I threw in, the less I'd have to remember. I moved as if to take a sip of the tea (which I desperately desired), but halted, bringing it back down to the saucer with trembling fingers. "We," I started, pausing for dramatic effect which earned me another squeeze on the hand. I gave her a hopelessly grateful smile. "We were…traveling through Germany-" Here I decided would be the moment I could go no further, instead choosing to lift the hand that was not balancing my tea to my eyes, grimacing in emotional distress as silent sobs again began to rack my body.

I could practically hear the woman's mind turning over the small bit of information she had as she stood again. She relieved me of the burden of holding the tea, hands flittering over me helplessly, as if looking for the wound she could plug up to stop my tears. Finally she simply gripped my shoulder in slender fingers, giving a calmingly gaze as I lifted my sore eyes to her.

"Do you have any sort of identification?" she asked carefully, the wrinkles in her face becoming more prominent as she let her concern show, "Any way for us to maybe contact your family?"

I blinked rapidly as if coming out of a daze, nodding as I began to dig around my robe pockets. When I looked up again, the woman was examining my clothes for the first time, looking confused and full of pity. I figured that she assumed the robe was some stolen or discarded men's coat that dwarfed my tiny figure as I passed her my papers, still bound in the aged leather Dumbledore had given me. As she flipped open the case, her eyes widened before growing painfully sad. She gave me a pitying look, the bright Star of David making my situation very clear indeed. She cooed a soft noise of sadness for me, reaching out and gripping my shoulder once more. I nodded, letting a few more tears slip out as she sighed and handed the wallet back.

"I'm so very sorry for your loss, dear," she assured me, nodding along with me as I thanked her, "But you are incredibly lucky to have escaped and made it all the way here. Have you any family left in England at all?"

"No," I answered, with a quick shake of my head, "My parents were only children and my grandparents have all died."

The woman tisked sympathetically, pulling a hand kerchief from her pocket to offer to me. I took it, mild surprise growing inside me since I had always figured kerchiefs were things only men of the time carried. But then I supposed she had to watch after several lonely children. The bit of cloth probably came in handy more often than not. I dabbed only at my cheeks, not wanting to get mucus or excess rainwater on the thing before handing it back. She shoved it into her pocket, smile appearing as the fabric disappeared.

"Well, Ms. Neuman," she said, picking up my new name from my papers, "You are very welcome to stay here until you are of age to care for yourself." I nodded, mumbling a small thanks under my breath as she helped me from my seat. With a smile, she lead me back out into the hall, this time, head up and shoulders back as she spoke. "We have quite a few children here orphaned by the war, poor dears. We've plenty of room for more at this time as we only have ten children in all staying with us at the moment, now including you."

I wrestled back the surprise from my face as she turned into a door just to the right of the main entrance. Following her in, I realized we had reached an office and she was quickly making her way behind the desk. I sat in the opposite chair as she motioned me to and watched as she began to riffle through a messy stack of papers. Looking around, I couldn't help but notice the array of framed, unmoving pictures that covered every flat surface. In them were dozens of different children of various ages, all clinging to this woman's legs or wrapping a loving arm around her shoulder as they smiled.

"My name is Mrs. Cole," she finally introduced, smiling up from the papers that she was clicking into place between her fingers, "I am the orphanage's matron." I nodded, having figured as much from the pictures which I was still gazing at. Face after face, frame after frame and still I could not find the one I was looking for. The one Ginny and Harry had described to me a dozen times over. The handsome one that held a devilish smirk beneath a silky wave of midnight black hair. Where was Tom Riddle?

"Your first name is Ericka is it not?" she questioned. Tearing my eyes from my search, my brow furrowed in confusion. She was looking back at me over glasses that she had adorned at some point while I was distracted, and she had a pen poised over some official looking form. My entrance form I supposed.

"Oh yes, sorry," I confirmed, recalling that my flimsy, paper card gave me a new first name as well. I knew I would never remember to answer to it though, and I could not stand the idea of living out the rest of my life not as Hermione. "But I prefer to go by my middle name."

"Which is?"

"Hermione." She blinked before nodding and adding a note to the side of my form. I knew my name was quite unusual, even for my time, and so did not press any further as she continued on through the slip.

"What year were you born?"

"1926."

"What day?" I tried to remember when the Dark Lord had been born so that I might stay within his year without ever having to actually celebrate my birthday in his presence.

"December third," I decided on finally, "It's just past."

"So you've just turned sixteen then?"

"Yes." Mrs. Cole's eyes suddenly sparked, a coy smile gracing her lips as she filled in the last of my information. She recapped her pen and removed her glasses, smiling over the desk at me as she stood.

"Well, Miss Neuman," she enthused, reaching into a bottom drawer of her desk and pulling out what looked to be an empty filing folder. "As of right now you are the oldest child we have with us. The only person near your age is young Mr. Riddle. He'll be sixteen December thirtieth."

My blood ran cold at the first bit of evidence Tom Riddle even lived here. There were no pictures of him in this office, his cold eyes had not looked through a crack at me as I passed through the hall. He would have just gotten back from Hogwarts earlier today, he should be milling around somewhere. My inner musings had distracted me from the fact that Mrs. Cole was talking, presumably chattering on about Riddle as she organized my papers into the file now neatly marked 'Neumen, Ericka'. I cringed at the name.

"Such a strange boy," she concluded, moving to a large filing cabinet in the corner, "Lonely I'd imagine with no one his age to talk to, but now that you're here maybe that will change." She looked at me, eyebrows up as if to gauge my reaction. I didn't feel comfortable playing in to that expectation and so just met her gaze with a blank look hoping she'd figure I was going into shock and hurry things along. She shrugged, the 'maybe not' not needing to be spoken as she took a key hanging around her neck and unlocked the top drawer of the cabinet. "May I have your identification?"

"Sorry?"

She turned to me, looking apologetic as I gave her suspicious glare. "Sorry, dear," she cooed, "But all information on our children must be kept in this cabinet in case of anything." Still I hesitated. "If you ever need it for any reason, it will be right here and I won't hesitate to give it to you, but for now it needs to be filed away with all the rest."

At the phrase 'all the rest' I suddenly found myself conceding. I handed over my papers without another bit of protest, eyes fixed on the drawer as she filed my information away, closed, and locked it. All the rest. That meant that Tom Riddle's papers were filed away somewhere in there, just waiting to be examined. I ripped my eyes away from the promising little cabinet as Mrs. Cole began to speak again, guiding me out of the chair and out of the room. Before the door closed behind us, I spared the drawer one last glance over my shoulder. I had to get in there.


	3. Chapter 2

**Please forgive my long absense! While this isn't my favorite chapter, believe me when I say I am extremely excited to be writing this story and have every intention of seeing it through to the end.**

**Thanks for reading**

December 14, 1942

"Dinner will be in a half hour. I suggest you rest until then, deary," had been the last words Mrs. Cole had inparted on me before leaving me alone in my new room, and so were the first I recalled when I woke up an unknown number of hours later, mouth dry and stomach rumbling. I sat up on the lumpy cot that passed for a bed in the orphanage and squinted around. Where before the day was dark from overcast, it was now clear that the sun had departed from the sky and the old building was still in the night. I cursed myself internally for letting myself take a nap of all things on the first day of my mission.

Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I shivered as my bare feet touched the hardwood floor. I had deemed my knee highs unsalvagable after the strenuous travel they had endured today and now found myself without proper foot cover. Mrs. Cole had assured that tomorrow would be the day I would be fitted and provided with a clean set of clothes. Recalling the grey rags I had seen the children wearing upon my arrival, I was not quite excited to be parted from my beloved school uniform, but knew it was not worth crying over.

Standing with a yawn and a stretch, I reasoned that I was far more concerned with food than clothing currently and approached a plate that had not been on my desk top when I fell asleep but now was. Removing the cloth napkin, I was rewarded with a cool dinner of potatoes, chicken, and biscuits all covered in a suspicious looking gravy. My stomach grumbled irrately, thinking of the Hogwarts dinner I had missed in my haste to carry out what I hoped would not be Dumbledore's final wishes.

Tom Riddle came to the forefront of my mind as I carried my meal to my bed, wondering how his stomach could handle such drastic changes in food quality multiple times a year. Perched on the edge of my bed, I nibbled on the hard, stale biscuit and thought sarcastically how the Dark Lord's poor attitude may be due in part to this awful food.

A half hearted chuckle cracked through my mouth as I imagined Ron making such a joke, his love of good food never far from his mind. The noise dissolved into a whimper quickly though and I sniffed again, dropping the bread into the equally dissapointing potatoes as my eyes pricked with tears. I tried to breathe through the pain but my shaking breaths soon became full on sobs as a wave of loneliness and despair washed over me, its weight crushing down my spirits.

Try as I had to stiffle the feeling of loss time travel had left me, I could fight it no longer as even my taste buds began to grow homesick for my own time. Setting my food down on the ground, no doubt to be devoured by rats, I curled up on my side, swearing to be a tough warrior of Dumbledore's Army the next day. For this night and this night only. I would allow myself to mourn the essential death of Hermione Gra

nger.

* * *

December 15, 1942

Waking the next morning, I was disgusted with the unseen state of my face. My eyes were sore and swollen from crying and my hair stuck to my face from the mucus I had multiple times tried to wipe away on my sleeve. The sun was streaming in through my filthy window, allowing me to properly see where I would be residing for the next few weeks until the school term began again.

It was a tiny space with Spartan-esque furnishing. Besides the creaking bed I sat on, there was a wardrobe, a barren desk and chair, and a waste bin in the corner. All the furniture had obviously been carved from the same dark, rough tree and looked grim all covered in dust collected over the years. Still, it was a roof over my head and I knew that if nine other children were making it work then I could at least try to do the same.

My suspiciouns of rats were confirmed as I stood and found my plate from the night before now nearly cleared, only a few small crumbs remaining. I grimaced, picking up the dish while simultaneously trying to tame my wild mane of hair. I was about to brave the hallway for the first time and I did not want the other residents to think me strange even if I only saught to catch the eye of one of them.

I was both hoping and dreading to spot Tom Riddle as I cracked my door open to peer out. The hallway was empty, but a clatter could be heard from downstairs and I shivered; imagining going down there, staring Lord Voldemort in the face, and acting as he was not the very heart of evil itself. With one final breath, I slipped from my room, bare feet carrying me soundlessly over the old floorboards which surprisingly did not creak or groan under my weight.

Following the din through the hall and back down the stairs I had ascended the night before, I eventually came to a large open room where four long tables sat, each occupied by a resident of the orphange. At the first table to my far left, closest to the front of the building and its windows sat Mrs. Cole, looking almost cheery as she spoke quietly with a solemn faced man who showed no sign of enjoying her company. He was slender and sat with his shoulders hunched forward over a stack of papers he was scribbling through. With his hooked nose and greasy dark hair, he reminded me fleetingly of Severus Snape and I found myself hoping for my matron's sake that this was not Mr. Cole.

The next two tables were sat at by groups of children, all varying in age, gender, race, and volume I found as one boy howled loudly, his voice ringing in my ears like a harsh bell as those gathered around him also whooped and hollered. Each of the children, no matter their expression (happy or desolate) looked ravaged by hunger and were obviously victimes of poverty. Their faces were dirty and their clothes, clearly hand-me-downs of previous residents, hung off them. Still somehow the majority of them managed to look content if not overly enthused with their current situation; sitting on an uncomfortable bench eating what looked like cold porridge for breakfast.

Of the large cast of characters before me, however, it was only the boy at the last table that drew my eyes and set me to staring. For he sat all alone, back to the ruckus behind him and head dipped over a rather thick book, his porridge cast off to the side and untouched. To say an air of mystery and danger hung around Tom Riddle would have been cliche but accurate, as it was clear the other children had intentionally avoided his table and that he in turn had given them a wide birth as well.

I stared so hard at the back of his head, devoting every strand of that black hair to memory, that it was a wonder he did not sense my gaze and turn around. As it were, Mrs. Cole noticed me before he did and hurried to her feet.

"Ah, goodmorning, Ericka!" she beamed, shuffling to my side as the man she sat with took his time rising from his seat. I reminded her I preferred to go by Hermione and she apologized, waving her pale hand through the air. "I figured you could go for some more rest after everything and so didn't wake you for breakfast." She looked a tad chagrined and I assured her it was quite alright, eyes never straying from the boy at the last table. "If you're hungry, there's plenty of oatmeal left."

I grimaced, not knowing if the gray goop in the bowls could be called oatmeal, but turned her down as politely as I was able, claiming stomach pains. Nodding she put an arm around me, turning us both so that she could address the room as a whole. My flesh heated up, waiting for a pair of grey eyes to turn to me.

"Children, children, quiet down for a moment please!" she called, waving her hand up and down in a lowering motion as the orphans began to turn towards her voice. "We have a new friend coming to stay with us. This is Hermione." A few snickers went up from the younger children, no doubt having never heard such a name before, but a stern look from their matron silenced them. "I expect you all to make her feel at home and teach her how things run around here, okay?"

"Yes, Mrs. Cole," came the syncronized reply and the old woman clapped once, pulling me towards her table to the severe looking man that waited for us. Tom Riddle had still not lifted his head.

"Ms. Neuman, I'd like to introduce you to Mr. Fitz, the owner of this building."

Mr. Fitz was probably taller than his hunch allowed to be seen and he had a wiry set of glasses perched upon his nose through which he eyed me distainfully. Through that look alone I could immediately tell he was not a fan of youths and so was left to ponder why he had agreed to let his building to be used as a refuge for them in the first place. Nearly nothing pleased me less in that moment than the idea of shaking this person's hand, but I extended mine noneless, recalling to make myself look tortured and frail.

"Pleased to meet you, sir," I breathed, hoping I played the part of a newly orphaned teen well enough.

My performance, good or otherwise, went unheeded by Mr. Fitz as he simply eyed my hand and gave me one kurt nod as way of greeting. Then in a gravely voice that sounded as if it could have belonged to a Dementor if they were capable of speech, he informed Mrs. Cole that he would be departing for the day and that they could finished their business at a later date. She showed him out and I was left standing alone at the far side of the room. A few pairs of curious eyes still lingered on me, but not the ones I was most anxious and terrified to see. When Mrs. Cole came back it was to me glaring at the back of Riddle's head, my dinner plate still cltuched in my hands, knuckles white from the pressure of my grip.

"Sorry about that, dear," she greeted, "Mr. Fitz is not the friendliest landlord, but I suppose there must be some light in his heart if he's letting these poor children stay here for next to nothing everything month. How are you settling in?"

My shock over hearing of Mr. Fitz's apparent generosity was short lived as I agained slipped into the part of an unsure, lonely girl. Head cast low and shoulders sagged, I shrugged, stating that the place seemed to be 'alright' so far. I allowed myself a moment to look off dreamily, earning a sympathetic squeeze on the shoulder from Mrs. Cole, no doubt trying to comfort me from my haunting memories.

"Well," she conceeded, taking my dirty dish from me, "I'm sure sooner rather than later you'll find yourself right at home with the other children. Have you gotten a chance to speak to young Tom yet?"

"Not yet." By this point we were stearing to exit the dining hall, our backs to the other children and Riddle. "He seems a bit..." I cast the boy a glance over my shoulder, seeing him move for the first time as he turned a page listlessly. "Withdrawn."

Turning back to the old woman, I tried to convey an air of shyness and insecurity as she tutted, leading me down a different hall than the one we had walked the day before. "Poor dear," she tisked, "I try my best to make him feel at home with the other children, but I fear he favors school over this dreary place most days."

"He goes away to school?" I asked, wondering exactly what she knew of Hogwarts as I tried to school my expression in to one of innocent curiosity.

She drew back a bit, eyes searching something unseen as we entered what appeared to be the kitchen. It too, like the bedrooms, was scarcely decorated; two fridges, a sink, and a chairless table the only things taking up space. "Yes," she revealed slowly, the word seeming to be drawn from her against her own free will. "Tom goes to a very special school outside of London and spends most of the year there outside of the winter holiday and summer months."

I lingered in the entrance of the kitchen, eyeing her back as she moved to place my dinner dish in the sink. I glanced back up the hall towards the dining area. "Special how?"

I turned my face back towards the sink just in time to see her shoulders stiffen and her hand freeze where it had been about to turn on the faucet. It occured to me then that she had no way of knowing that Tom went to a school for witchcraft and wizadry, but that clearly someone from Hogwarts would have had to come and tell her something at some point. I itched to snoop through the boys file.

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say," she confided with a shrug, turning to me after she had set the plate to soak. I wondered about other staff here in the orphanage. "Perhaps Tom can tell you about it sometime as you two get to know each other."

She chuckled to herself, lightly touching my shoulder as she excused herself on the way to her office. I was left standing alone in the hall with my stomach even emptier than it had been the night before and my mind in turmoil over how to approach my mission. On the one hand I needed to lay low since it would be a hindrance for Riddle to suddenly become suspicious of me and therefore be watching my every move. On the other hand, I could not hope to gain information on him and thwart his plans if I did not become at least partially close with him.

The conundrum left me worrying my lip, wishing Harry were there to make some wild suggestion that I could immediately classify as wrong and form a better plan from moving in the opposite direction. Maybe my friends didn't always know what to do, but they helped me feel like I did. I was just beginning to despair their absense once more when I heard a set of footsteps approaching me from behind. I turned expecting to see Mrs. Cole or perhaps one of the younger children coming to introduced themselves but I was met with another sight entirely.

Tom Riddle was tall for a boy just shy of sixteen and broader than I would have expected. He was just as Ginny had described him and more. With thick black hair and stoney eyes, I was terrified to note he was classicly handsome. What was more, he carried himself like a man, his stride confidant and sure which made it feel as if the hallway were not big enough to fit the two of us. As he grew closer, book held loosely at his side, I could feel the heat of his magic pricking over me making the hair on my arms stand up. I straigntened up, half expecting an immediate attack of some sort. Could he tell already I was a muggle born witch and so was just waiting for a moment to insult me? Had he somehow guessed at my fabricated heritage and was planning on spouting anti-semetic slurs at me?

I was terrified and excited. Unsure and ready. I was facing him head on as he approached, prepared to take and give back anything he dished out three times over. With less then a few feet between us, I covertly smoothed my hand down my waist, feeling the small lump that was my wand tucked into my skirt.

When he was directly in front of me I squared my shoulders and opened my mouth to speak, for this was the moment. It was unneeded though as he brushed right passed me, cool eyes never straying from straight ahead of him. He passed so close in the narrow hallway that our shouldes all but brushed and I gasped at the coldness that rolled off him. At once I was l left to stare after him, his back straight as an arrow, no hint of a slouch to mar his figure.

"Hey," I found myself calling, hints of confusion and nervousness present in my tone. If he heard me, he gave no indication, dissapearing into the sitting room once he reached the end of the hall. I was glad for this as I could have absolutely kicked myself for speaking at all. My only saving grace was that in my misstep I had managed to continue putting out the vibe of a girl still adjusting to a strange situation which I realized I was.

At that moment I decided that both sides of my plan needed to be put into use if I hoped to make any ground with Tom Riddle. I would make my best attempts to befriend him, but I would also look into his file to find out anything I could about the young Dark Lord. I would try everything in my power to stop him from creating his Horcruxes because I knew the fate of the people I loved and the world I knew depended on it.


End file.
